Poems
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Developments
By Ella JefferyThat summer everything smacked
of tax write-off—men came to unslump
the sunstruck fence, rolled tarp-grey
carpet down the hall, but left -
An Heirloom of Love
By Adrian Mouhajer, Princess Arinola Adegbiteafter bell hooks
Here on my table, we share the memory of our countries,
centuries of recipes stitched into the strands of my hair, -
In the event of apocalypse, remember TV
By Mitch McTaggartThere’s Australian TV content that you’ve never heard of
Sitting in archives
Collecting whatever the digital equivalent of dust is
Probably never to be watched again -
Writers Block
By Rob WatersWinds rush through half clipped spaces; they whistle in the dark through windows neither closed nor open.
The tin roof rattles; shaking just beyond that point that catches those night winds rushing.
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Buoyancy
By Zainab SyedI.
When we consider the buoyancy of a city’s heart
There is not much that will keep it afloat -
The Hero
By Ouyang YuNot anymore. Not anymore?
Are we talking about the one who was both literary and military, capable of lifting something some one thousand jin heavy, riding his horse and rushing into the enemy position alone, killing hundreds of them, taking one city after another, until the whole country fell into his hands, and writing hundreds of poems while dr… -
Takayna; Milaythina Ningi
By Theresa SaintyTAKAYNA; MILAYTHINA NINGI
(Takayna; Mother Country)
Nara Takayna; ngini paywuta
Wurangkili mulapana-nara nuritinga tunapri -
Baraya Barray - Whale Song
By Sonya HolowellI am a multidisciplinary artist, which I think reflects the way my ancestors have practised the interconnectedness of artforms. I often vocalise my written poetry, or create poetry with the potential to be musically interpreted. But more than this, poetry is pattern, and it is everywhere. Beyond mere associations to alphabetic text, poetry can be … -
With Grace
By James ColleyThis Is Not A Poem
I am in love with a girl
who does not understand the treachery of images -
Quilting the Armour
By Nam LeSun everywhere, and shadow. Swamplight, aquarium light
turning the far-off fields almost Kelly green, bullion-fringed.
Stitch of tracer gold. Crystallised moments you see, hear things clear:
the end, and past too. Shack, hill, horses, watertank, windmill — -
I Fell
By Heather MitchellI cannot say I knew him
nor did he know me
yet somehow in the silence
between the siren and the stillness -
Gowk
By Simon ArmitageOne day I had no soul and the next
I did, like a cuckoo’s egg, so
then I was lumped with this baby ego
hatching out of the heart’s nest, -
Clipper blades and feather pillows
By Jonathan SriranganathanSnip
snip-snip
snip, snip, snip
These days, you can hear that subtle clicking almost everywhere -
This is Wrong Way by Lore
By Kerry Bulloojeeno Archibald MoranShe white fella wanted to take me
To jaagi maam sacred site's on wajaarr country
A place of muluurr blood, galaagarrbili sweat and budii tears
This invitation I did not mangga-bayila plan -
What has been said by many and has often been said
By Pascalle Burton, Vacant Dragon à la Subverted Lipsafter Cicero’s first and second speeches on the Agrarian Law
I
stirring up trouble -
bird around my neck
By Aries M. Gacutanwhere is my heart? —rotting at the bottom of the pacific ocean
hurled out the side of the plane
because i didn’t have the cash.
and my mouth, full -
Where have all the bad boys gone?
By Patrick LentonI didn’t know who i was when i was a teenager -
a long gangle, awkward loping sack of bones -
but i knew what i wasn’t allowed to be
i was not allowed to be a bad boy or a naughty girl -
you can start anywhere, you’ll still hit all the service stations
By Hasib Houranithe laptop bag is red, i got it for free from a friend who got it for free. new things are not all that common, i suppose. my neighbours speak portuguese, the calathea loses another leaf. the heatwave runs like an old fridge, the old fridge is mostly empty, droning.
we watch the tennis. how fast is that little green blur? could whip me interstate … -
Perimeter of Rectangles
By Laura PanopoulosSize one
Enervated by background noise,
recollecting my words,
they are far from push-button. -
How to See Yourself
By Patrick GunasekeraAfter Audre Lorde and Laura Hershey
You strain against the words again,
Carefully chosen to throw out to them
